


Singing for absolution

by millygal



Series: HC_BINGO [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deaf Character, Deaf Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: No matter how hard Dean pushes, Sam won't walk away.





	Singing for absolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennytork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennytork/gifts).



> Last of my hc_bingo prompt fills. This is for jennytork as she has a serious soft spot for this particular subject matter <3 Thank you to jj1564 for the beta and wonderful comments <3

_”DEAN, WATCH OUT!”_

_Too late, Dean turns and sees the ticking timer on the bomb the British Men of Letters left waiting for them in Rufus’ cabin, and it’s all he can do to throw himself out of the direct blast path before the numbers flick down to zero._

_As the dynamite ignites and explodes, taking the roof off the cabin and the skin off of Sam’s arms and legs, Dean lands hard, smacking his head against the wooden floorboards of the cabin, then tries to crawl towards his brother, who’s lying quiet and still in a pool of blood._

_Dean screams Sam’s name, and he can’t hear himself, can’t hear anything. Not the crumbling of the walls or the crackling of the fire as it rages through the interior of the building, and a sickening realisation dawns on the Hunter as he only just manages to wrap his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pull him clear of the blaze._

_Sam regains consciousness just as Dean slumps to the ground next to him and heaves for breath, struggling not to pass out from exhaustion and smoke inhalation._

_Sam is burned so badly he’s howling in agony, writhing on the ground twenty feet from the rapidly burning remains of Rufus’ cabin, and Dean, sitting right next to him, can’t hear a single fucking thing because - Dean is deaf._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The explosion that robbed Dean of his hearing is slowly but surely eroding the only other thing in his life that’s kept him upright for so long.

His and Sam’s relationship is currently shot to shit.

He knows he’s doing it, he understands how hard he must be to live with, but he can’t stop, can’t rein it in.

Dean’s been berating and belittling Sam for weeks, even as his brother’s seared skin was healing and he’d been trying so desperately to cling to the fact that they were at least alive. Dean had been pushing and shoving in the hopes that Sam would finally walk away and leave him to his despair.

For the first two weeks Dean refused to even open his mouth, too aware that he wouldn’t be able to hear his own voice and not willing to let it crack without knowing. It took Sam bringing a whiteboard and marker into his room and scribbling a note about Dean being a stubborn bastard for him to finally _use his words_. And boy did he use his words.

_”I’m not a BASTARD FUCKIN’ CHILD! Stop patronisin’ me with this bullshit! I don’t need a fuckin’ whiteboard and safety marker to talk!”_

Sam had rubbed out what he’d written and tried explaining that this was not in fact him patronising Dean, but a way they could speak to each other, but all Dean had seen was sympathy and sorrow and making allowances for the lame dog he was.

He’d reached out, snatched the board from Sam’s hand and snapped it in two, before storming away.

Six weeks later and Dean’s anger isn’t getting any easier to deal with, but Sam _still_ refuses to pack up and fuck off, and it’s infuriating him to no end, making him want to beat the holy hell out of his brother for being so stubbornly optimistic in the face of such a fucked up situation. “Why won’t you LEAVE? Just leave me alone, I’m useless as a Hunter now, what’s the fuckin’ point of me?”

Sam’s been doing absolutely everything he can to not give in to his own anger over Dean’s vitriolic outbursts, mainly because the cruelty of Dean’s deafness still reduces him to tears when he’s alone and can freely cry over his brother’s fate, so he understands Dean’s nastiness.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let this shit slide for much longer.

Dean’s in the process of destroying yet another piece of priceless furniture whilst making animalistic noises and swearing like a sailor on leave, and Sam’s just about had _enough_.

Reaching out and gripping Dean’s shoulders, Sam winces at his still tender skin stretching over his straining muscles, and slams his brother into a set of shelves, making them shudder and let loose a shower of books that fall in haphazard piles around them. “STOP!”

Dean’s eye are blazing, sparking with a fury Sam’s only ever seen in rabid animals and the monsters they hunt.

Leaning in close, nose to nose, Sam makes sure that Dean can still see his lips and sneers. “Stop! Dean, this has to stop. I **get** it. I hate it. But you have to stop! We can figure this out.”

Dean turns his head away from Sam’s moving lips and hisses. “Can’t hear you.”

Dean’s tone of voice tips Sam over the edge and he begins to shake him, roughly shoving him from side to side, forcing Dean to look at him in shock. “DON’T PRETEND YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ME! I KNOW YOU CAN LIP READ! STOP BEING A DICK!”

As a single book lands heavily on Dean’s head, making him duck and cry out, Sam releases him like he’s been electrocuted. “Fuck, shit. M’sorry, sorry. Fuck.” before running from the room.

Dean stares after Sam and wonders if he’s finally managed to push him away.

~~~~~~~~

Dean’s ire has dissipated somewhat, and he’s sitting amongst the pile of books still adorning the floor in front of the shelves and rubbing his head, wincing every time his fingers come into contact with the bump that’s rapidly forming on his scalp. “That fuckin’ hurt.”

Sam stands in the corner of the room, out of Dean’s eyeline, and watches him sitting cross legged on the floor and talking to himself.

Sam’s so ashamed, so upset with himself for letting go and hurting Dean.

He’s been through enough and _yes_ he’s being a dick, but who wouldn’t be? Of all the people Sam knows, Dean is the most proud, most stubborn, but also most susceptible to believing he’s a useless lump. Losing his hearing isn’t something he’ll be able to just get over, and all Sam’s done is sink to a level he never thought he’d reach.

Blowing out a breath and squaring his shoulders, Sam grabs a pad and pen from the table and strides towards Dean.

Stepping in front of him, looking down, Sam waits for Dean to raise his face before scribbling something on the paper and sitting down opposite him.

Dean’s eyes narrow at the pad being gripped tightly in Sam’s hands, but doesn’t start throwing a fit, simply tilts his head and waggles his fingers in a _gimme_ gesture.

Etched into the paper is a single messy word.

 **Sorry**.

Dean snorts and shakes his head. “What have you got to be sorry for?”

Sam tugs gently on the pad, writes something, then hands it back.

**Lip read me?**

Dean nods once and raises his eyes to Sam’s mouth.

Sam offers a small smile before opening his mouth and enunciating as best he can, trying not to look like he’s sounding words out for fear of tipping Dean over the edge again. “I’m sorry for losing my temper. I know how hard this is for you. I shouldn’t have - “

It’s as Sam’s eyes begin to bristle with tears, forming fat droplets on his eyelashes as they flutter against his cheeks, spreading the dampness down his face, Dean realises how painfully stupid and nasty he’s been.

Sam spent weeks fending for himself as he healed from the burns he sustained in the fire, and all Dean did was kick and flail, try and push him away and rage at the injustice of _his_ injury. He barely spared a thought for his brother who was hobbling around and crying out in pain, simply because he couldn’t hear that pain.

Even now, when Sam’s sporting awful raw-looking burn marks across his shoulders and thighs, he’s here, trying to get through to Dean, and the older man understands just how much he doesn’t deserve Sam’s support, let alone his apology.

“I’m sorry. Sammy, I’m so sorry.”

Dean hasn’t called Sam _Sammy_ for weeks, and as the name comes tumbling from Dean’s lips, Sam’s tears finally fall, dripping from the tip of his nose and soaking his shirt as he tucks his chin on his chest to try and hide his face.

Dean watches Sam’s shoulders shake and is devastated for the pain he’s put his brother through.

Placing a finger beneath Sam’s chin, Dean forces his face up and mouths _I’m sorry, forgive me?_ before wrapping him in a gentle hug, mindful of the red skin still healing on Sam’s upper body.

~~~~~~~~

The look of fear on Sam’s face when he carries a portable CD player into the library and places it on the table in front of Dean, breaks Dean’s heart. He put that fear there and he doesn’t know how to remove it, how to replace it. Dean thinks he might spend the rest of his life attempting to make up for that hunch in Sam’s shoulders as he pulls a pad and pen from the waistband of his trousers.

Sam’s not sure if he’s gonna get screamed at, or punched, but Dean hasn’t had an outburst since their conversation earlier and perhaps they’ve reached some kind of understanding, but this might just shove Dean right off the raggedy edge.

It’s something Sam’s wanted to try for weeks, but Dean was in no state to understand that it wasn’t a cruel jibe, just a chance to share something they used to both love so much.

Sam sits next to the CD player and starts scribbling, as Dean smirks at the look of concentration on his brother’s face. Tongue poking out the side of his mouth as his head tilts from side to side in time with the movement of his hand.

Dean’s never noticed Sam does that, before.

Sam hands the pad over and waits, holding his breath.

**Can I try something? It’s something I saw on the Discovery Channel.**

“Nerd!”

Sam laughs, and Dean may not be able to hear it, but he can see it in the shake of his shoulders and the creases at the corners of his eyes, the way his lips curve upwards into a self-deprecating smile.

Sam flicks the play button on the CD player, places it in his lap, then grasps Dean’s wrists and drags his hands flush with the speakers.

Dean’s trying really hard not to pull a disbelieving face, as this is clearly a music thing and he can’t _hear_ it, which is making him sad and pissed off all at once, but he doesn’t want to get into another row with Sam, and clearly his brother thinks what he’s doing will help in some way.

It’s as Dean’s holding himself in check that he suddenly realises, no, he can’t hear the beat or the melody, but he can **feel** it. The music is vibrating from the speakers, shuddering across his skin and reverberating up his arms before settling in his chest where it’s pumping almost in time to his rapidly increasing heartbeat.

It takes a few replays and Sam urging Dean to try and place the tune, but Dean finally recognises what it is Sam’s got blasting from the speakers and he begins to sing, severely off key and out of time, but the words are like crisp cool water washing over his battered and bruised psyche.

_“She was a black haired beauty with big dark eeeyyyyeeees. And points all her own sitting way up higgghhh.Way up fiirmm and hiigghhh!”_

Sam’s face breaks out into the brightest smile, eyes alight with a mixture of hope and love, and it brings laughter through tears into Dean’s voice as he continues to croon out of tune. _“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy. Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy!”_

Finally Sam joins in, lifting one of Dean’s hands to his own chest, and those vibrations mix with that of the song still trickling through Dean’s fingers.

_“Workin' on mysteries without any clues. Workin' on our night mooooooves.”_

 

 

Fin.


End file.
